


Undeath of a Salesman

by airplant_guy



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airplant_guy/pseuds/airplant_guy
Summary: Jim never really tried all that hard. He half-assed his job, half-assed his relationship, and now, after a bizarre accident, he’s even half-assed death itself. Can he find his killer, quench his newfound insatiable thirst for blood, all while maintaining his position as paper salesman at a mid-sized office supply company?Meanwhile, Dwight and Karen strike up an unlikely alliance, Pam gets herself into a hairy situation with Roy, Creed gives some sound advice for possibly the first time ever in his very long life, Kevin gambles with the wrong customer, and Michael learns that his relationship with Jan really sucks.Takes place from season 3 onward. No camera crew.
Relationships: Jan Levinson/Michael Scott, Karen Filippelli/Jan Levinson, Karen Filippelli/Jim Halpert, Pam Beesly/Jim Halpert
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> What if Jim actually turned into a vampire in that one episode? Based off that. Some ideas inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer and What we do in the shadows (but not really a full AU of either of those).

That night, three men were illuminated by the streetlight’s ghostly orange glow. 

Two stood, looking down. The third one lay there, collapsed, limp on the concrete. 

They were all the same height. They had the same shaggy hair, the same overcoats. If anyone happened to pass by at that time, they may have been mistaken for brothers. A closer look would have revealed that they looked just a little  _ too _ similar to be brothers. 

“That’s me?” The first Jim said. His voice was calm but betrayed a hint of dismay.

“That’s you,” the second Jim confirmed, “Or, at least, it was.”

“Huh.”

The Jim on the ground was facing away from him so he couldn’t make out his own face. But that was definitely  _ his _ jeans,  _ his _ jacket,  _ his _ body. His bike lay a few feet away, as motionless as the collapsed Jim was. Jim tried not to stare too hard at the pool of dark liquid that collected at their feet. 

Jim wasn’t crazy into drugs or anything, but he’d taken mushrooms once or twice in college. Jim wanted to believe that somehow Creed or someone had spiked his lunch, or maybe the office had a carbon monoxide leak and he was just seeing things. Maybe he had gone home and went to sleep and this was just some crazy side effect of REM dreaming. Jim wasn’t a terribly religious guy, he knew nothing happened after death. So why was he even still…  _ here? _ And why did it feel so real?

“You think you had a good life?” The second Jim said.

Jim didn’t show it, but hearing his own reflection speak to him was very creepy. It wasn’t just how he looked, it was his body language, too. The slight slouch of his shoulders, the sort of slow but curt manner of speaking, it was all  _ him _ . Jim never liked hearing recordings of his own voice, and this was a million times worse. In response to the question, he just let out a huff and shrugged. How was he supposed to answer that?

“You half-assed your job, half-assed your relationship, half-assed your hobbies, half-assed your friends…” The other Jim went on. He didn’t sound especially angry or disappointed, more like he was reading a menu at an Applebee’s but nothing seemed to hit his appetite.

“Yep,” The first Jim said. 

“Well, I’ve got good news, and bad news.” The second Jim said, “The good news is, you’re not dying. Not today, at least. The bad news is you didn’t exactly survive, either.”

“How’s that?”

The other Jim pursed his lips. “I guess you’ll find out. Good luck, Halpert.”

“Wait- who are you? Are you me?”

“In a way,” The other Jim said, not really answering the question. The other Jim looked up at the streetlight. Involuntarily, Jim followed his gaze, inadvertently blinding himself for a second. 

When his vision adjusted, he was on the ground. The other two Jims were gone, which was a good sign, at least. 

His bike gleamed a few feet away.

That was it. He was biking home after work in the dark, and he must have hit his head. Pretty hard. Serves him right for trying to be healthy. 

Everything hurt, like his bones had been replaced with lead. He let out a pained groan as he shifted into a sitting position. He rubbed the side of his face, shocked to find no abrasions marring his skin in spite of the nasty fall. That was weird, he’d sworn he saw blood… Maybe that was just regular old street blood. 

Nothing appeared to be terribly broken, so his next order of business was to acknowledge the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. 

One text from his brother [to be ignored] four from Karen, who’d wanted to rent a DVD [oops, he’d deal with that tomorrow] and one buy-one-get-one-free spam message from Pizza Hut. Okay. 

Jim grabbed a hold of his bike. No flat tires. It was like he’d tripped up over thin air. The last thing he wanted that night was to physically exert himself any more, but nonetheless, he began to ride, albeit a bit wobbly, back to his apartment. 


	2. Business Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight has a point.

Karen struggled to keep her eyelids open. The gray walls, the low humming of office supplies, her own coworkers’ equally sluggish sleepy movements seemed scientifically engineered to sap every ounce of energy out of her body. That was Scranton, for you, she guessed. 

Sure, she’d pretty much had the same job in Stamford. But her old Stamford office building had a lovely view of the Long Island Sound, and the promise of a fun Friday night in New York was just a short drive away. Scranton… well, as far as Scranton was concerned, there was a quarry that teenagers could throw rocks into. It had two or three dive bars. And there was Jim. Speaking of, the office seemed quieter than normal, probably because the salesman in question had called off. Jim had texted her that morning around seven. 

_ srry abt movie night. got the flu. iou, ur pick next time.  _

Karen had been a little annoyed he’d left her hanging- how hard was it to send a short little text? She was worried half to death he’d been mugged or something on his goofy bike. But immediately she felt guilty for being irritated at all. She could be cool, she could be chill. 

_ Want me to pick you something up from CVS? _ , she texted back. 

_ no _

The “no” probably would’ve seemed passive aggressive from someone else, but as far as Karen could tell Jim just texted like that. No capitalization, no happy face emoji? Maybe it was a guy thing. 

_ Ok, _ she texted,  _ next movie night we’re watching  _ The Room.

_ fine but ur paying for my funeral after _

Karen gave her phone a smirk one last time as she flipped it closed and stashed it away in her purse. 

“Good morning office people.” The one and only Michael Scott emerged from his lair. That was one of the other downsides of Scranton. 

“As you all know, Jan is visiting again today. Don’t get too excited, she’s coming for me, not for all of you. Just kidding, she loves all of you equally. Just me a little more equally. What time, Pam?”

Pam tiredly shuffled behind her desk. The look in her eyes made Karen think of a pony at a petting zoo that the hordes of school-aged girls wouldn’t leave alone. “Two in the afternoon, Michael,” she said.

“Ooh, afternoon pick-me-up!” Michael grinned at his unwilling audience. “Very good. Keep it up.” He drummed on Pam’s desk, oblivious of the glare she gave him, then sauntered back into his office, apparently saying all that he wanted to say. Karen let out a quiet sigh of relief. That was one of her shorter Michael interactions. 

Karen forced her eyes back to her computer screen, squinting at the white glare of Outlook. She’d been trying to proofread the same email for the better part of the last twenty minutes but had blanked out past the first sentence repeatedly. 

Dory… Darla… Debbie. Yeah, it was Debbie. The head rep of some local magazine she’d been trying to get in touch with. 

Karen wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that the paper airplane crash-landed on her keyboard when it did. Woke her up, at least. 

Stanley blinked slowly, not bothering to look up from his magazine Phyllis stared intently at her computer, but when Karen glanced over at her screen, she appeared to be inspecting a stock photo of a picket fence. 

When Karen looked in the direction of the paper airplane’s source, Dwight caught her eye. He meaningfully met her eyes and gave a meaningful nod towards the folded paper he’d thrown at her. Okay. Karen had her fair share of Scranton quirkiness, but even among her other coworkers, Dwight was an oddball. She’d have figured that out in five minutes even if Jim hadn’t extensively prepped her beforehand. Should she humor him?

Karen undid the careful folds of the paper airplane, revealing… blank paper. Exciting. 

She gave Dwight a befuddled look, only to find him glasses-deep in some file, as if he’d never thrown the stupid thing at her in the first place. Weirdo. 

Karen shook her head. God, she had work to do. Serious work. Adult work. She didn’t have time for pranks- whether directed towards or coming from Dwight. 

It was maybe another hour before the second plane made its landing on her desk.

She held eye-contact with Dwight as she crumpled it and punted it into the trash. 

By the third airplane, she’d had enough.

“Okay, Dwight, fine.” Karen stomped over to his desk, not bothering with formalities, “If this is revenge for something Jim did, I don’t care. I’m trying to work. You know? That thing you’re  _ supposed  _ to do in an office?”

Dwight’s eyes darted up towards her, then back down at his computer. “What airplanes? I don’t know what you’re talking about. And even if I did send you a secret message via airmail, there’s no way I would write with  _ invisible ink _ , knowing that you’d never put them under a  _ blacklight. _ ”

Karen let go of an irritated sigh she didn’t know she was holding in. “Okay, whatever.” She turned around, towards her desk.

“Wait!” Dwight scooted on his rolly chair. His voice suddenly got low and quiet. “If you go now you’ll never be a part of my alliance.”

“What alliance?”

“ _ Shh! _ Someone might be listening.”

Karen would have sighed again, but she’d already done it so many times. Phyllis was still browsing the internet. Meredith seemed to be in an intense game of solitaire. Pam mumbled something into the office phone. 

“Hey Stanley,” Karen said, “What do you think of Dwight’s alliance?”

“Mmmhmm.” Stanley grunted at his name but didn’t look up from his crossword.

“Funny, they don’t seem to care that much,” Karen observed. 

“You’re on thin ice.” Dwight hissed, “Count yourself lucky that I need your information. Meet me in the breakroom at 9:43.”

He didn’t stop Karen again as she walked back to her desk. It was about ten past nine. She weighed her options. She could try to squeeze in a business call now, spend ten minutes alone in a room with Dwight, and move on with her life, or she could spend the next seven hours or so being bombarded with office supplies and cryptic codes from his truly. Dwight was nothing if not persistent. Ten minutes alone in a room, it was. 

Karen sighed and hit ‘send’ on her email to the client, not bothering to even spell-check it. 

~

“You could have just sent an email.” Karen pointed out, shutting the door behind her.

“It could have been intercepted,” Dwight explained slowly, as if he were talking to a child, “I have important information to pass on. It could fall into the wrong hands.”

“Important information,” She echoed.

“It’s about Jim.”

“What about him,” Karen asked warily.

“He was supposed to clock in at eight. It’s nearly ten.”

“He’s out sick.”

“Unlikely,” Dwight said, “Yesterday he didn’t so much as sneeze, his skin and eyes were clear. The picture of health. At least, as much as _ he _ could be.”

Karen wasn’t sure if she should feel jealous that Dwight was paying so much attention to her boyfriend’s skin and eyes. “So? He’s probably got a twenty-four hour bug or something. I’m sure you’ve had one before.”

“False. My immune system is stronger than that of any man, woman, or animal. I’ve beaten the twenty-four hour flu in as little as eight hours.”

“That’s great, Dwight. Now I have some actual business-”

“Think about it. His skin is pale and ice cold. He doesn’t go out in the sunlight because he knows it’ll burn him. He avoids garlic at all costs. What is he?”

Karen stared at him, mouth agape.

“ _ Say it! _ Say it out loud.” Dwight insisted.

“A… a white… man?” Karen stammered.

Dwight rolled his eyes with barely disguised contempt. “A vampire,” He corrected. 

“A vampire.” Karen repeated slowly. Suddenly, she had an uncomfortable thought. A few days ago, a bat had gotten itself trapped in the office. Jim, he was a great guy and all, but Karen never could understand his obsession with messing with Dwight, no matter how annoying their bespectacled coworker may have been.  _ Of course _ Jim had taken that opportunity to play a trick on Dwight.  _ Of course  _ that oddball had taken it seriously.

“Dwight,” Karen said carefully, “You mean that thing with the bat last week? That was just a prank.”

Dwight stared at her. “ _ Damn it _ , Jim. He dragged the good name of vampires through the mud just to shirk on work. Typical slacker.”

“No, no, just the vampire thing was a joke,” Karen explained, “He really does have the flu. I called him earlier today. He sounded like death.” 

“I can’t trust you. You’re sleeping with my greatest enemy. Of course you’d cover for Halpert.”

“You really think I want to be stuck in this breakroom with only you for company?”

“Fine.” Dwight hissed, “If you have any tips on Jim’s…” He mouthed ‘vampire’ “...situation, here’s my card. If I find out that you’re hiding any vital information from me… Well, let’s just say I have some friends in very high up places.” 

“You mean Michael? Dwight, I know Michael too.”

“Higher.” Dwight insisted. 

“Higher than Michael?” She feigned amazement, “Who could be higher up than Michael? You mean the president of the United States?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Dwight said curtly. 

By the time Karen got back to her desk, the client had responded with admirable speed. At least something was going well. The client had requested a  _ business lunch _ ? Debbie or whatever was moving faster than some of the dates she’d had. Debbie represented some magazine company Karen hadn’t ever heard of, but she knew how to talk numbers; landing that commission would definitely pay for a nice trip or a fancy blouse or two. 

Karen didn’t mind stepping out of the office for a bit. 

~

The overcast sky hung low as Karen pulled up into the P.F. Chang’s parking lot. Even though it was only 12:30, it looked much later. She thought P.F. Chang’s was a weird place to have a business lunch, but then again, anyone who would willingly buy from Dunder Mifflin over a normal company was bound to be a little… alternative. Was that the right word?

Karen gave herself one last quick one-over in her rearview mirror, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her lipstick and hastily smoothing down a few flyaway hairs. She forced her mouth into a winning smile. A smile that said,  _ I’d love to be your number one paper supplier _ . 

Debbie had one of those faces that Karen felt like she’d seen somewhere before. Bright red lipstick, glossy hair, neat blouse, a too-joyful smile. Maybe fifty years ago, she would’ve made a great flight stewardess. 

Karen flashed her most charming paper-saleswoman smile, but she was no match for Debbie’s blinding pearly whites. “Hi! You must be Debbie!” Karen stuck out a hand.

“My, sweetie, aren’t you formal!” Debbie gave Karen a playful bat, “Please, just call me Debbie!”

_ I just called you Debbie. _ The tone of the other woman’s voice was cheerful enough, but something about Debbie seemed  _ off. _ Debbie’s eyes didn’t waver from Karen’s. 

“Uh, okay! How was your drive over?”

Debbie cocked her head. “Drive?”

Before Karen could respond, a waiter approached their table. 

“May I take your drink orders?” He said pleasantly.

“ _ I’m ready to eat _ . I’ll have the rice,” Debbie requested, not looking at the young man. 

“Just rice? Okay. And you?” The waiter turned to Karen.

“Uh,” Karen hesitated, not having looked at the menu. She read the first thing on the page-spread. “The spicy chicken garlic bowl sounds good.”

“ _ No! _ ” Debbie’s shriek startled even the waiter. A couple heads turned. Karen swore she saw a deep horror twist Debbie’s face, but as soon it came, it had vanished, and her brilliant smile returned. 

_ Commission, _ Karen told herself,  _ commission _ . Maybe Debbie was a vegan or something.

“Oo-kay,” Karen said, “I’ll also have the rice.”

“Two orders of rice! Wonderful! We’ll have them right out.” If the waiter thought their orders were odd, he didn’t show it. Karen guessed he had to work for that tip, same as she did.

Debbie wasn’t exactly easy to talk to. Karen considered herself relatively likable (was that self-absorbed to say?) but making small talk with her was like making small talk with a brick wall-Giving one word answers or “uh-huh,” to everything she said. No, that wasn’t entirely right. Debbie was definitely paying attention to Karen, just not to the words coming out of her mouth. Karen got the distinct impression that Debbie was eyeing her the way a cat eyed a mouse. 

At last, Debbie got up, almost robotically.

“If you’ll excuse me, dear! I have to powder my nose!” She announced to the whole restaurant, before sliding out of the booth and walking off presumably in the direction of the restroom. 

Karen let out a little sigh of relief. Unless Debbie was a complete social recluse, Karen was probably going to bomb this sale. And she didn’t even get to try out mediocre Chinese food, just rice. 

The waiter returned to the table before Debbie did, depositing two steaming bowls of white rice. 

It had been a few minutes since Debbie left, and the rice was getting cold. Oh well, if Karen had bombed the sale she’d bombed the sale. Might as well eschew politeness. She snapped her chopsticks in two and half heartedly picked at the soy-sauce soaked rice. 

Karen’s phone buzzed- Jim. 

_ Hows pf changs _

Karen responded-  _ 8/10. The rice is fine, the decor is so-so, I think my client might be a robot. _

The rice was half-gone when Karen started to grow concerned. Had Debbie dined and dashed? That was kind of hard to do, considering she hadn’t actually  _ dined _ . Karen herself had been served a good amount of water so she was starting to think about checking out the lady’s room herself. Karen got up and wove her way around the other tables towards the back of the restaurant. 

The bathroom was dark. Weirdly dark. Like a lightbulb had blown out. She stepped in. 

“ _ You kept me waiting, _ ” A woman’s voice hissed.

Karen heard the door shut behind her, cutting off the light. Debbie’s smile almost seemed to glow in the darkness.

“It’s been so hard for me to watch you all night, waiting for a private moment...” Debbie purred, “I can hardly restrain myself, sweetie. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten out.” 

_ Oh _ .

“Debbie, look. This is  _ just _ a business lunch. And I have a boyfriend, even if I didn’t, I’m not really that…  _ that _ way…” 

“ _ I’ll have your blood. _ ”

Okay. Maybe Karen had misread the situation. She was just a regular serial killer. That was quite a bit worse, actually. 

Debbie opened her mouth wide, wider than she had all night. Unnaturally wide, like her jaws had detached from her skull, but there was no pain in her eyes- only malice. Karen wasn’t sure if it was fear or the darkness playing tricks on her eyes, but it almost seemed as if her pearly white teeth were pointed at the tips, like the fangs of a poisonous snake. That was definitely not normal.

Okay, Karen was going crazy. She’d gotten the same flu Jim had and now she was hallucinating. But as she backed up, trapped between the sink and the inhuman abomination known as Debbie, Karen thought that the cool porcelain against her back and the stale air in her lungs felt very, very  _ real _ . 

Karen met the monster’s eyes, now glowing red like coal. On an impulse, she broke the monster’s gaze and glanced over her shoulder, into the mirror. Her own face, looking pale and scared. In front of her,  _ nothing _ . She could still hear Debbie’s heavy breathing, feel the heat from her breath, but according to the mirror the creature didn’t exist. Karen was alone. When Karen looked back straight, the monster was still there, full-force. 

Karen’s fingers curled around something small and wooden- the chopsticks. Karen must have spaced out as she’d texted Jim and taken them to the restroom. It wasn’t much better than fighting back with a toothpick, but when Debbie lunged, Karen’s muscles responded before her brain did. 

Both predator and victim tumbled onto the floor. A sharp pain gripped the back of Karen’s skull, making white flash in front of her eyes and her ears ring. When no sharp fangs met her neck, Karen realized her ears weren’t ringing, Debbie was screeching. A horrible, almost birdlike screeching that echoed around the small room. Karen really hoped there wasn’t some poor lady in any of the stalls. 

Karen realized the weight was evaporating off her chest- Debbie’s twisted demonic face, once flawless, grew crackled and gray as she fell apart into dust and chunks. Karen spit some of the Debbie-dust out of her mouth. Gross.

Now, Karen really was alone in the woman’s room. 

All Karen could do was stare at the pile of dust that was definitely once a pale-skinned, sharp-toothed killer woman, somewhat guiltily. The creature she had just  _ killed _ . Debbie really had left a mess, hadn’t she? Karen made a mental note to leave the waiter a good tip.

That was it. She’d either hallucinated a monster, which she’d subsequently killed, or she’d just killed some smiling magazine employee (in self defense, but still). She didn’t know which was worse. She was crazy. She was insane. She looked at the inconspicuous piece of wood in her hand. 

Even in her shocked state, Karen knew there was only one person on earth who wouldn’t immediately call the police on her if she told them what had just happened.

With one shaky hand, she pulled a small piece of cardstock out of her pocket. 

The front read,  _ Dwight Schrute, Assistant  _ ~~_ to the _ ~~ _ Regional Manager _ . 


End file.
